


Dancing School

by furiosity



Series: Short Precarious Anecdote Month [13]
Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 16:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furiosity/pseuds/furiosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ishida decides to make a Quincy out of Ichigo. Things do not go as planned. At all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing School

"Hey, sorry I'm late," Ichigo said as Ishida let him into his apartment. "Got caught up in Admissions--"

"Strip," Ishida said, shoving him inside as soon as his shoes came off.

"I-- yes? I mean, what?"

Ishida rolled his eyes and sighed. "Your clothes. Take them off. I need to take your measurements."

"Um. _All_ the clothes?"

"You can keep your socks and underwear on, obviously. I don't need to measure your feet or your, you know. Penis."

Ishida blushed, and Ichigo's long-buried crush blossomed anew, just like that.

"Why do you need my measurements?" Ichigo asked, loosening his tie and looking around for a likely spot to hang it from.

Ishida pointed to the chair by his writing desk. "If I tell you, you won't do it, so don't ask."

Ichigo sighed and draped his tie over the back of the chair. "Fine, but aren't Chad and Inoue coming over too?"

"If you stop talking, we'll be finished before Inoue-san has to see you in your underoos."

"You know, you're kind of a bully when it comes to stuff like this," Ichigo complained. He undid his belt, let his trousers drop to the floor and left them there, earning a look of reproach.

"You should treat your clothing with more respect," Ishida said, fussing with the magazines piled on top of the _kotatsu_.

"Yeah, yeah," Ichigo returned. He took his blazer and shirt off and folded them over the back of the chair, then pulled the trousers up off the floor and settled them across the chair seat. "Happy?"

Ishida folded his arms and looked at him. Ichigo, having remembered how many times he used to think about stripping in front of Ishida and then helping Ishida out of _his_ clothes, started to become flustered.

"This too?" He pointed to the Quincy cross given to him by Juhabach. Shaped like his _zanpakutou_ 's guard and just as black, it hung from his neck on a thick silver chain. It was colder in the room than he'd expected, and all the hairs on Ichigo's bare legs were staging a violent uprising. Literally.

"That can stay," Ishida declared, plucking a roll of measuring tape from the bowl of sewing knick-knacks he kept on the desk.

"I hope you don't mean to strangle me with that," Ichigo said.

Ishida sniffed. "Not if you behave yourself."

That took Ichigo's mind on a trip to a place where he was totally naked and bound to a bedpost by flexible measuring tape. Ishida approached him. _Just kill me now._

Ishida looped the tape around the base of Ichigo's neck, pinched it together, bent over the desk and noted down a number on a piece of paper. He smelled like he'd just had a shower, and his hair looked damp near his neck. Ichigo did his best not to think about what it would feel like to bury his face in it.

"Lift your arms," Ishida said. Ichigo did, saying a little inward prayer of thanks for having remembered to apply deodorant that morning. Not that Ishida would care if he smelled like goat balls. Ishida wound the tape around Ichigo's chest, just above his nipples.

As Ishida held the tape up, one of his palms pressed lightly against Ichigo's nipple. His breath hitched. "Your hands are cold," Ichigo said quickly, realising with a sinking feeling that if Ishida kept touching him so casually, he was going to get turned on.

"Bend your elbow and put your right hand on your hip," Ishida said. As Ichigo complied, Ishida stepped behind him and pressed the cool metal end of the tape against the middle of the back of his neck. He rolled the tape over Ichigo's shoulder, down his elbow, all the way to his wrist. The places where he paused to smooth the tape over Ichigo's skin burned like new tattoos.

Ichigo swallowed hard as Ishida repeated this on his other arm. Maybe it wasn't too late to put up a fuss and get back into his clothes. Ishida clearly had no idea what his smooth, gentle hands were doing to Ichigo's composure. He was standing so close that his body heat seeped into Ichigo's naked back, making him shiver.

"Are you really cold?" Ishida asked, concern in his voice. "I could turn up the heat--"

"No, don't do that," Ichigo said. Shivers or not, if his body got any hotter, he'd need an ambulance or five.

"Suit yourself," Ishida said, slipping the tape around Ichigo's left biceps, then around the fleshy part of his forearm. His fingers flitted across Ichigo's skin, quick and soft, as he moved the tape, and Ichigo started to sweat. A flush was starting on his chest; he hoped Ishida wouldn't look there.

Ishida got back in front of him and put his arms around Ichigo's waist to string tape around it. He knelt, stuck a finger underneath the tape, tickling Ichigo's stomach, peered at the number. Ichigo looked down at Ishida's face a breath away from the top of his boxers -- _why_ had he chosen pinstripes? -- as all the heat he'd tried to stifle flooded his lower belly in a sweet rush.

_Kenpachi's feet. Seven times forty-one equals two hundred and eighty-seven. Ikkaku's loincloth. The average constant flight speed of a commercial passenger airliner is approximately nine hundred and sixty kilometres per hour. Renji picking his nose. In its first instar a mantid will eat small insects such as tiny flies or its own siblings._

Ishida was on his knees, wrapping tape around Ichigo's hips, thighs, calves. Slight, fleeing touches, as if teasing. Ichigo was afraid to look down to see what his dick was doing; he knew it was _hard_ , but maybe his boxers would be enough to cover up the worst of it.

"Move your legs further apart," Ishida instructed without looking up. The measurement sheet lay on the floor between Ichigo's legs; Ishida was writing on it. As he stepped out to widen the gap, Ichigo looked down in horror; his dick made a sizeable tent in his boxers.

Ishida's lifted the tape to the inside of Ichigo's thigh. His knuckles pressed up against Ichigo's balls, drawn up tight, and he looked up, blue eyes widening behind his glasses. Ichigo wanted to punch his own dick in the face. Not that it had a face, but it was the principle of the thing. Ishida drew his hand away from Ichigo's balls and stretched the tape down Ichigo's leg all the way to his heel, then did the same with the other leg.

"You can put your clothes back on now," Ishida said. He was studying the measurement sheet with great interest.

"It's not what you think," Ichigo offered. His face felt so hot he was sure his head was about to explode. At least that would put an end to his embarrassment. Though Ishida would probably not be pleased to have to clean the place up.

Ishida pushed his glasses up his nose even though they didn't need adjusting. "These things happen," he said. "Normal physiological response to unexpected stimulation. You don't need to explain."

Ichigo exhaled. "Oh. Well, good. I mean, we're guys, right?"

"Right." Ishida's face was blank; his tone held faint disapproval.

Ichigo kicked himself mentally for feeling so disappointed. What did he expect? He'd been over this. Having crushes on other guys statistically set a guy up for a bitter pill. "So what _are_ these measurements for?"

"Oh, I'm going to make a proper Quincy outfit for you."

"Ishida."

"Don't complain, Kurosaki. If you're going to be a Quincy, you need to wear the uniform."

Ichigo scowled. "I don't want to be a Quincy. I want to be a normal university student."

"You know you will never be a normal anyone unless you learn to control your power."

Ichigo had sat through several lectures from both Soifon and Juhabach on how his _reiatsu_ could do unpredictable things -- like flow out at random and possibly cause damage to buildings or living creatures nearby -- until he mastered his awakened Quincy powers. They'd even had Mayuri seal his Shinigami powers away into the lotus-leaf tattoo on his left pec.

"You won't have time to be going to the Vandenreich, so obviously I'm the natural choice to help train your Quincy powers. I've already cleared it with the higher-ups, so it's official," Ishida continued.

"Who said I wanted to train my powers right _now_? I'll be busy with school," Ichigo said. He _wanted_ an excuse to spend time with Ishida, but considering the state Ishida had just put him in, it was a terrible idea. What he needed was time away from Ishida so he could put his crush to rest. Again. For the third time.

"Just think of it as dancing school."

"Dancing school?"

"You know, extracurricular activity outside the school proper."

Ichigo snorted. "I took karate."

"Shut up."

Ichigo's phone went off, and he flipped it open. "Inoue says Chad's really sick, so they're staying home."

"Oh," Ishida said.

"We could go together?"

Ishida cocked an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I want to sit in a dark movie theatre alone with you, after what just happened."

Heat burst into Ichigo's cheeks. "I thought you said it was normal! Were you planning on touching me inappropriately in the theatre, too?"

Ishida drew himself up. "I was in no way inappropriate! I never intended to, um."

"Don't even say it," Ichigo said, holding up a hand. This was stupid. He loved the idea of sitting beside Ishida at the movies, getting to take long good looks at the sharp curve of his jaw and the smooth skin on his neck. That was the problem; he needed to put an end to this, not encourage it. "Forget I suggested it, okay?"

"We could go up on the roof and start training," Ishida said. "I don't have any other plans, so we might as well use the time."

-

They were on the roof of Ishida's building. Dusk was still far off, the sun inching slowly towards the horizon far across the city's rooftops, and a lively breeze messed up their hair and flapped their clothes about.

"Focus on the cross," Ishida said for the tenth time.

"I am," Ichigo said. He was so focussed on the heavy black cross dangling from his neck that it felt like it weighed about six kilograms.

"Now, hold out your hand, direct your will _through_ the cross and into your weapon."

The sensation was like touching something made out of nothing. If he concentrated and drew on that nothing, a bow was supposed to materialise in his hand.

"Through the cross, not _to_ it," Ishida called.

Ichigo nodded and concentrated, shutting his eyes and willing, willing the bow to appear. Real weight in his hand, a sucking sensation in his solar plexus as _reishi_ gathered into his palm like hypnotised ants.

"No, it's still a sword," Ishida said. Ichigo opened his eyes again, scowling.

He had had no trouble materialising his weapon on the first try. It was just the wrong weapon: a sabre, not a katana, but neither of those was a bow.

Ichigo let the sabre vanish and wiped sweat off his forehead.

"Let me see your cross," Ishida said, walking closer to him.

He picked the cross up off Ichigo's chest and smoothed his thumb along one jet-black arm. Ichigo's shoulder blades tightened as he remembered that exact same thumb skating across the soft inside of his right thigh not an hour ago. _I'm jealous of a piece of jewellery._ He really needed an excuse to get away from Ishida for a few months. Just a few months, and he'd be fine again.

"It feels just like a regular Quincy cross," Ishida said. "I don't understand why it won't form a bow."

"It's the same shape as the guard on my _zanpakutou_ ," Ichigo said. "Maybe that's interfering, somehow?"

Ishida looked up at him, and Ichigo was suddenly aware of how close together they were standing; half an arm's length, if that. He was turning to stone under Ishida's beautiful eyes and was pretty sure he could hear the muffled swell of a violin-heavy soundtrack playing in the distance of his ridiculous, stupid, defective brain.

"Your eyes are really blue," Ichigo blurted. He wanted to take Ishida's hands, but if he did that, it would be the last time.

Ishida dropped his gaze and lowered the chain with the cross, his hand lingering on Ichigo's breastbone for a moment, as if afraid that the chain would break and the cross, fall. He stepped back and looked into Ichigo's eyes again, with something like defiance.

"There's something I have to say to you."

"If you're going to say something like we can't be friends any more because I'm obviously a crap Quincy, you can forget it. I won't accept that."

"It's not that. I, uh. It appears." Ishida cleared his throat, glanced away, then back at Ichigo. "It appears that for a long time now I have been thinking of you as a man."

Ichigo frowned. "Huh? Of course I'm a man -- what did you think I was before, a fruit fly?"

Had he misjudged _that_ severely? It had taken Ishida _this_ long to see him as a fellow human?

"No, I mean that in, um." Ishida's cheeks flushed crimson. "You know. In a physical way."

Ichigo blinked. Why was Ishida acting so embarrassed? "Obviously I'm physically a man. Just because I'm a Shinigami--"

"Oh for crying out loud, I want to have sex with you!" Ishida snapped, eyes flaring, then he clamped a hand over his mouth. "No, I don't mean it that way. Forget I said that," he mumbled through his fingers.

 _Is this what it feels like to be hit by a bus?_ Ichigo prised Ishida's hand away and leaned in to press his own mouth against his, just once. Ishida's lips were warmer than he imagined, the skin rough from wind damage, and Ichigo's mouth went dry. "I'm not about to forget you said it," he murmured without pulling back. "What are you gonna do about it?"

"Fighting again, you two?" came Urahara's cheerful voice from behind Ichigo, and he careened backwards, taking several steps away from Ishida, who looked even more mortified than the day everyone threw him a surprise birthday party.

"We weren't fighting!" Ichigo growled, still gazing at Ishida's flushed face. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so much seething resentment towards somebody, and he certainly had never felt that way about Urahara. He supposed there was a first time for everything.

" _Now_ I understand what all those reishi fluctuations were about," Urahara said. "All my equipment started going off the scale suddenly, pointing to this area. Kurosaki-san, I know you must be anxious to start using your new weapon, but please don't go too crazy here in town."

"That's not it," Ichigo said with a sigh. "I don't even _have_ a new weapon." He focussed on the cross and held his hand out, producing the same sword as before.

"That's very interesting," Urahara said with a guarded look, the brim of his hat shadowing his eyes. "I've never heard of a Quincy sword aside from the Seele Schneider, which I am given to understand requires specially stored spirit particles." He glanced at Ishida, who nodded. "You might wish to discuss this with the Vandenreich before you proceed further, Kurosaki-san. Anyway, as you were."

He vanished, and Ichigo gave Ishida a rueful grin. "So much for dancing school, huh?"

Ishida didn't return his smile. "You look relieved."

"I am. You haven't seen my course load." Ichigo clenched his jaw. He was stalling, why? They both knew they had more important things to talk about than how much free time they were going to have now that they were in university. "About before, Ishida--"

"It's okay," Ishida said with a slight shrug. "You got caught up in the moment, I understand."

"I did not--! Ishida, you--!" Ichigo spluttered. He took a deep breath. "I've had a crush on you since the first time you got in my face, you big idiot."

Ishida crossed the short distance between them, put his hand on the back of Ichigo's neck and kissed him, not soft or timid but masterful, possessive, his tongue slick and hard against Ichigo's, making him squeak in surprise. He pulled Ichigo along until Ishida's back hit the stairwell enclosure's wall; Ichigo braced against the wall with one forearm and pressed himself tightly against Ishida's body. No slow build this time; he was hard, he _needed_ pressure, needed Ishida to touch him everywhere.

Ishida groaned softly and rolled up against him, his free hand gripping Ichigo's left buttock, pulling him in. Ichigo's hands, useless and overly heavy, finally obeyed him as he unclasped Ishida's belt, unzipped his trousers and reached in.

"We're outside," Ishida panted through more kisses.

"I don't give a shit," Ichigo told him, fumbling through the slit in Ishida's boxers and pulling his cock out for a better grip; it made a nice velvety handful, and the way Ishida's teeth sank delicately into Ichigo's bottom lip was even nicer.

"What if someone comes--" Ishida gasped, not sounding concerned at all; he was rocking up into Ichigo's fist, his glasses foggy.

"No one ever comes here," Ichigo told him, stroking faster, watching that gorgeous pale red flush drench Ishida's neck, wishing he could see all of it, all of him.

"God, Kurosaki, I'm going to come, it'll be a mess--"

"That's what my mouth is for," Ichigo said, squeezing harder.

Ishida made a noise like a trapped animal, struggling out of Ichigo's grasp. "Don't _say_ things like that!"

Ichigo pushed himself away from the wall, knelt, drew Ishida's dick into his mouth and moaned as it convulsed, flooding his mouth with come, the sound of relief spilling from Ishida's lips like a sob. When it was over, Ishida sank downwards to sit against the wall, avoiding Ichigo's eyes. Ichigo pulled him by the shoulders, let Ishida's head fall forward against his thundering heart.

"You're really unfair, Kurosaki," Ishida murmured after his breathing steadied.

"I wish you'd call me Ichigo. Even Rukia does, and she's never seen my dick."

"I haven't seen your dick, either," Ishida said, lifting his head to look into Ichigo's eyes. "Let's fix that."

Before Ichigo could protest, Ishida undid his trousers with alarming speed and drew Ichigo's dick out of its pinstriped prison. Ichigo didn't like the hungry look on Ishida's face; he wished Ishida would look at _him_ like that, not at his cock. These thoughts and all others vanished when Ishida's firm slender fingers slipped around him, pressing hard against the base. Ishida's other hand tipped Ichigo backward, away from the wall and to the side; Ishida got on his knees and moved so he could lower his head into Ichigo's lap.

Ishida didn't suck his cock the way Ichigo had done; he stroked it firmly near the middle while licking the tip, barely closing his lips over it, but Ichigo was too far gone to be teased; his orgasm tore through him like a rainstorm after a drought. Ishida didn't let him free until he was going soft again. Ichigo was pretty sure the noises coming out of him had sounded like those of a newborn kitten, but he didn't care. His body felt so relaxed it was too heavy to sit up, so he leaned sideways against the wall, the cool bricks soothing against his temple. Ishida scooted closer to him, tucking himself away.

"Now we can't say that no one ever _comes_ here," Ichigo offered.

Ishida snorted. "That's awful even for you."

"You're just jealous you didn't come up with it." Ichigo drew Ishida to himself.

Ishida rested his head against his shoulder, and Ichigo lifted his face up to the wind's kisses and closed his eyes.

Ever since he was fifteen, he had always imagined thinking _now what?_ after moments like this with Ishida, but here under the spring wind, all he could think was _finally_.

[end]


End file.
